During the Fourth of July, my sister and I are doing free face paintings and chalk drawings outside our father’s store. We have been there since eight in the morning and it’s now nearing six in the afternoon.

A young woman comes up with her elderly great-aunt. The elderly woman sticks her hands deep into the bowl of free suckers we’re giving out; I am a little stunned. Before I can say something, the woman scolds her like a child. She tells her great-aunt to only take one, but we allow her to take two.

She asks for my sister to paint the West Virginia symbol onto her cheek. My sister pulls up an image on her phone and shows it to the elderly woman, who approves it, and my sister gets to work.

I talk to the woman during this time, and she tells me her great-aunt has a mental disability and that she may behave childishly.

After her face is done, the great-aunt sits down on the sidewalk with me as her great-niece gets her face painted. She grabs some of the chalk and writes out in childlike handwriting, “Kathy-Happy.”

She says she is very happy and there is so much joy on her face as she shows other customers her freshly painted cheek. Her great-niece takes her hand and they walk off.

It made my tiring day better and I don’t think I’ll forget Kathy anytime soon.

This story is part of our Fourth-Of-July-themed roundup! This is the last story in the roundup, but we have plenty of others you might enjoy!

23 Hilarious Stories About Customers Not Quite Getting July 4th!

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Back in 2014, my husband and I decided that we wanted to visit a shopping center a state away. We got the address from Google and headed off on the two-hour drive.

Everything was going fine until we got into the city for the shopping center. Our GPS had taken us to a different building. Where we’re from, it’s completely normal to ask other businesses about a location if lost.

My husband pulled into the first business he saw and got out to go in. What I noticed — but my husband didn’t — was the big sign right out front of the business: “Federal Bureau Of Investigation Field Office.”

I laughed as I watched my husband go up to a door and try to open it. It was locked. Not realizing where he was, he just knocked until another man walked up to the other side of the door. The man was confused but gave my husband directions to the shopping center which was right next door.

When my husband got back in the car, he seemed confused by the interaction and why they wouldn’t open the door until I pointed out the sign.

Now it’s become a regular joke in our family. If we’re lost, find the FBI field office; they know where we’re headed.

I am in a grant-funded part-time position at the high school where I graduated. My job is to manage In-School Suspension for students who need a little extra time away from class but not away from school itself. I do things like make sure they do their work and address their issues. Sometimes, this just means talking to them, or, once their classwork is complete, they fill out forms and write about their options to do better next time.

Because this is a grant-funded position, I am frequently grilled by higher-ups. This particular day, a higher-up comes from the central office to interrogate me on my methods. This sleazeball once made me cry as a student and called me “worthless” because someone dropped the ball on getting me a book for an online course I was taking; online courses were not common for our rural school in the early 2000s) Without the book, I wasn’t able to complete the coursework and was failing. Sleazeball drove to my school from his central office, brought me out of class, and upbraided me in the hallway, causing me to have a meltdown that lasted for hours. I told Sleazeball through tears that I didn’t have the book, but he somehow didn’t see that as an excuse. My teachers, knowing I was a straight-A student, were not happy. They tried to help me and offered tutoring. Since I had a job, I bought the book that night myself instead of waiting for it. The school finally received my book not long after, so I ended up with two. Once I had the book, I had perfect grades and caught up quickly, doing half a semester’s work in a week. My grades were updated and no one said anything further, but I never forgot this sleazeball making a sixteen-year-old girl cry.

Sleazeball shows up in my In-School room, and I have a difficult student — the kind who doesn’t believe in authority and will not hold back when telling you about it. He’s smart, has a tough home life, and doesn’t fall for cheap adult reasoning behind rules.

Sleazeball asks [Student] what he is doing, and what he did to land himself in my isolated classroom. [Student] gives Sleazeball the runaround for a few minutes, telling him every injustice he has seen during his infamous high school career. I watch, contentedly, as Sleazeball tries and fails, time after time, to gain the upper hand. [Student] simmers down, and Sleazeball asks to see me in another office.

Sleazeball: “Did you see how I had to keep out-maneuvering that kid? He was arguing with me, but I couldn’t let him get the upper hand. Had to show him I was the authority. That’s a tough thing for young female teachers like you to learn.”

Me: *Smiling* “Oh, yes. He can be difficult. I’ve been working with him today so he sees we have rules he shouldn’t break because we have reasons.”

Sleazeball: “He reminds me of another student here. When you were in school. Really smart, but lazy. Always breaking rules and full of reasons.”

I continue to smile. I know exactly who he is talking about, but don’t dare to say it. 

Sleazeball: “He had long, dark hair. Always kept it in front of his face. Kept his head down a lot. Boy, he was difficult. What was his name?”

Me: *Trembling* “You mean [Student]? [Student’s Full Name]?”

Sleazeball: “Yeah! Oh, gosh, he would do the same thing. Acts just the same way. Smart, but just so lazy. I mean, really sharp.”

Me: “[Student] is my husband.”

Sleazeball turned bright red and stumbled over his words before making an ungracious exit. Something about, “Well, you know how to handle it,” and, “Good luck.” 

I’ve been in a full-time, permanent position in a regular English classroom at my school for seven years now, and I haven’t seen Sleazeball since.

I work at a hospital and go to the cafeteria five days a week for food. After browsing the options for the day and nothing looking really appealing to me, I finally settle and head over to the hot line.

Me: “Just a piece of chicken, please.”

The worker places the smallest piece of chicken in the pan in my container.

Me: “Actually, make it two pieces.”

I say it quickly before she shuts the container. The worker gives me a weird look but obliges and puts the second piece in the container and writes, “X2,” on the box.

I grab a ready-made salad, piling it on top of the box with the chicken in it, and grab a drink before heading to pay.

Me: “Two pieces of chicken…” *opens the box to show the cashier* “…and then just the salad and soda.”

Before the cashier has even finished ringing my food in, the employee that served me the food rushes up.

Worker: “She had two pieces of chicken! I knew you were going to try and steal!”

Both the cashier and I are surprised at this point.

Cashier: “Uhhh, yes. It says, ‘2x,’ on the container and she even opened the box to show me.”

The worker’s face turned red and she stormed off. Apparently, she had been taking it upon herself to try and catch thieves. After multiple false accusations, she either got moved or fired; I haven’t seen her since.

I don’t recall my exact age when this story happened, but I know that puberty came much earlier for me than my peers and that I was presumably in the very early stages of it at this point, as I’d just recently started to consider the idea of dating and romantic (or sexual) attraction.

This new attraction confused me a bit, mostly because I found myself as attracted, or perhaps more attracted, to other boys as I was to girls. I grew up in a more conservative area and so didn’t realize that there were people who weren’t heterosexual out there yet.

My parents had a close friend who visited semi-regularly. He would often take time to spend with me as well, to the point that he was almost like an uncle to me. One day, he was in the living room talking with me while my parents were busy doing something elsewhere in the house.

Friend: “So what about you? Do you have yourself a girlfriend or boyfriend yet?”

Me: “What did you say?”

Friend: “I asked if you were dating anyone.”

Me: “You said, ‘boyfriend’?”

Friend: “I said girlfriend or boyfriend, whichever you have.”

Me: “Boys can’t have boyfriends.”

Friend: “Sure, they can! Most boys prefer to date girls, but some boys end up preferring to date other boys, just like some girls end up dating other girls.”

Me: “Why do they date boys?”

Friend: “That’s just who they like to date. Everyone is different and likes different things, right? You like vanilla even though I know chocolate is much better. Same thing with dating — some just feel happier dating other boys instead of girls.”

Me: “How do they know?”

Friend: “What do you mean?”

Me: “How do they know they want to date other boys?”

Friend: “Oh, well, I’ve never been gay — that’s what they call boys that only date other boys — so I can’t really say for sure. I mean, can you explain how you knew you liked racing games more than other video games? It’s just something you figure out because it’s what you enjoy and like doing. Like, if you close your eyes right now and picture dating someone, are they a girl or a boy?”

This question was a little too on the nose for me. I panicked a little, not wanting to admit that I’d probably pick a boy, so I lied.

Me: “I don’t want to date anyone!”

Friend: “Oh, girls all have cooties, right? Well, just for the record, whenever you do decide to date someone, your parents and I would love to meet them, whether they were a girl or a boy.”

I remember thinking that day that he was staring at me like he saw through me and already knew I was lying. For years after that, whenever any topic about dating or sex came up, he seemed to make a point of saying, “girlfriend or boyfriend,” and generally making it clear that he would be supportive whichever I ended up dating. I never knew if he would have done that anyway or if he was doing it specifically because he suspected I was gay.

He was the first person to suggest to me that being attracted to the same sex could be okay, and his continuing to hint that he would be supportive of me even if I was gay was honestly a real help as I struggled to identify, and admit to myself, my own sexuality. It was good to know that at least one person would be my friend no matter what.

I ended up being somewhere between gay and bi; I’ve had relationships with both sexes but generally, I’m a bit more attracted to men. When I finally came out officially, the friend was right; my parents were fully supportive of me. As to their friend, his response basically boiled down to, “I knew it, and I’m glad you’re finally ready to come out to us.”

I don’t know how long it would have taken me to even realize that non-hetero people existed without him, or how difficult it would have been to come out if I didn’t know I had someone supporting me through it.

This story is part of our end-of-year Feel Good roundup for 2021!

Read the next Feel Good 2021 story!

Read the Feel Good 2021 roundup!